


Staccato

by flowersaretarts



Series: Violets [4]
Category: Withnail & I (1986)
Genre: M/M, Night, Nightmares, Romance, Tears, camden, comforting kiss, headcanons, kiss, nip kiss, otp, rom AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:05:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersaretarts/pseuds/flowersaretarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do when your mate suffers from nightmares?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staccato

When he cries, I find myself helpless.

He is a troubled sleeper - you can hear him laughing, talking, moaning on the other side of the bedroom door. Family heritage, the heavy luggage my friend had been carrying since his miserable childhood, never left his subconsciousness and occasionally manifested in the form of nightmares.*

It was two in the morning, the coldest and scariest time, which I hated and tried to skip at all costs.

All I wanted was drink myself daft and the glass of scotch was already halfway close to me, when I heard sobbing coming out of his room. In I came, with the bottle in my left hand, the glass in the right, to find him sitting up, hugging his knees, shaking with terror and apparently beyond coping. I held back the traditional “what’s the matter”, for I knew perfectly well what the matter was, and this time I wasn’t irritated with him.

Au contraire, I felt for him: almost naked (another habit forced onto him by his family), helpless and poetically vulnerable, craving for comfort, especially from a man, the man who would give him protection and warmth unlike his monstrous fascist stepfather.

I sat on the bed beside him and lifted his head by the chin, then forced my glass to his lips. Without saying a word he emptied it, still trembling. I leaned towards him, and within a moment his wet face was an inch from mine, my fingers resting on his neck.

Every part of him was a work of art, exquisitely shaped and smooth, so pale it was almost glowing. Not every day you get to gain full and infinite access to this gorgeous body and tonight was my perfect chance. But I knew how easy he was to get frightened, I had to work my best not to make him push me away with resentment and fear.

This boy can’t face the lustful gob of a whale, he needed not being swallowed. It’s not crescendo we need, oh no, the weapon of choice is a thread of touches. Gentle bites. Like this, my lips go carefully over his, soft punctuation, quick shots, striking him without hurting him. The music of the water drops, silver tune, the silent notes to break the dread of night. His head on my shoulder, as I keep going. There, now up his cheek, up, up, to his shut eyelids.

Kiss his nightmare away.

Up, up, up.

Don’t stop.

Till the last drop’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> *The idea of Marwood having nightmares in his adult life because of his traumatic childhood is inspired by his real-life prototype Bruce Robinson (the writer and director of "Withnail & I").  
> As a child, Bruce was constantly physically and mentally abused by his father (who in fact wasn't his father and knew about it, hence hated the boy). He describes the trials of his youth in his book "he Peculiar Memories of Thomas Penman".


End file.
